


For Every Drop of Rain That Falls

by NervousAsexual



Series: The Empath [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, I have no idea what I'm doing, Suicidal Thoughts, it is extremely rude of mental health to be so much work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-22 22:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock
Series: The Empath [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/650753
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	For Every Drop of Rain That Falls

Sitting upright seemed to Spock to be a profoundly uncomfortable way to sleep, but with Jim snoring lightly against one shoulder and Leonard dozing against the other, perhaps he was missing something.

They had been like this for hours, largely on Chapel's recommendation. Though Leonard seemed to have recovered well from the anaphylaxis he'd suffered on the away team there was nothing to be lost by sleeping in a relatively upright position. Once, not so long ago, Spock might have complained to himself about the nearness of the other two, but the body heat they gave off was quite pleasant.

His hands held theirs, Leonard's in his left and Jim's in his right. There was enough of an empathetic connection there that he could feel how relaxed Jim had grown, even after the fight with the Klingons. He was dreaming of snowflakes.

Leonard, however, dreamed of nothing. He shifted a little in his sleep. His head was so heavy, but to Spock it was nothing at all.

The weight of them brought back memories of a heavier weight--Leonard torn apart inside and out, coughing himself weak, more than willing to die for them. A very visceral kind of pain came with it. He should have known, he should have guessed...

No. Stop it. He was allowing human emotion to get the better of him. He pulled his attention back to the present. They were here, and they were alive.

Deep inside the heart of Minara II he'd felt Leonard's pain. Foolishly he'd assumed he understood the suffering then--Leonard was hurt, he was dying, of course he wanted death if that was all that would ease the pain of what the Vians had done to him. It wasn't until later that he realized it ran much, much deeper than that.

How had he missed the signs?

In retrospect it was all so obvious. The irritability, the restlessness, the stiff movements that made it clear that Leonard was only going through the motions. Spock had allowed himself to be fooled into thinking that these were normal. There was nothing normal about what had happened.

He thought of the Vians. All intellect without empathy or compassion, Jim had said. Hadn't he once said something similar about his first officer? Under extreme duress he'd told Spock that he was no better than a computer, exactly as his father was. Leonard had minced even fewer words over the years. Was that not what he was supposed to be? He was Vulcan. His emotions did not control him.

Nor had the Vians' emotions controlled them. They had hardly seemed to factor emotion into their thoughts at all. They lacked more than just empathy--Jim was correct, that was a feature they lacked, but so did many other beings of countless races and species; empathy was not what made societies function--they were without compassion. That was the sticking point. That was what made their actions unjust.

You are not the Vians, he told himself. You are Vulcan. You are seeking balance. They sought results.

Beside him Leonard sighed and stirred a little. He raised his head enough that Spock could look into his eyes.

"Spock?" he asked. He sounded exhausted and confused, but stable. Spock pressed his fingers into his palm in answer. "What's going on?"

He shook his head and Leonard gave him a doubtful look. "Nothing is happening, Leonard. It is 0200 hours and everything is quite peaceful."

"Can't sleep?" Leonard blinked at him sleepily, but what Spock saw wasn't sleepiness. It was bruises, a heavy purple swelling over one eye, internal bleeding, multiple organ failure, and, more painful than that, relief: relief that soon it would all be over. "Spock?"

"I was reflecting on your progress." He focused his eyes on Leonard now. He wasn't dying. He wasn't drowning in suicidal ideation. "On Minara II you wanted to die. Today you did not."

Leonard shook his head and settled back down against his shoulder. "What a metric for 'progress.'"

"It is a vast improvement, Leonard. You should be proud of yourself. Jim is, and I am as well."

"Not wanting to die isn't the same as wanting to live."

"No, it's not. But to come that far has required significant work on your part."

Leonard drooped against him. "Gettin' tired of all the work."

Spock could feel the emotion in the air, the mood coming back down. He was unsure it if was Leonard's emotions he was feeling or his own.

"It's always there. 'm tired of having to second-guess myself." Letting go of Spock's hand, he made two puppet shapes with his hands and had them talk at each other. "'I want to die.' 'No, you want to be out of this situation and you're so numb to everything that dying seems reasonable.' 'Or maybe I just want to die.' No matter how much work I put in it's always going to be there."

As he spoke his voice was rising, and Spock could feel the anxiety in the air. Beside him Jim snuffled in his sleep. Leonard fell silent.

"I'm tired," he said at last.

"I know you are, Leonard."

"Tired of being here. Tired of trying. Tired of being tired."

He understood. It was tiring for everyone. Every time Leonard slipped he and Jim felt the hurt as vividly as they had on Minara II. This was not something that they could fix--intolerable for Jim and difficult to accept for himself.

"Look, Spock. I don't know if I've said it before. But if something happens... it's nobody's fault, okay?"

Now he could feel tears. He was still unsure whose they were.

"It's okay now. But it'll be back. That isn't your fault and it isn't Jim's and if either of you even think it is I'll come back and give you a good whupping."

"Of course it's no one's fault. It is the result of a chemical imbalance that none of us have control over." He said that, but he knew exactly what Leonard meant, and he was right. If Leonard killed himself, intentionally, as a martyr, or otherwise, there would always be worries. What if they had done something differently. Could they have stopped this from happening. Why hadn't they seen the signs.

Why hadn't he seen the signs?

"I know you're supposed to sit with the feelings, but it hurts, and I'm tired of hurting."

Why hadn't he put it together?

Leonard puts his hand back in Spock's.

Why was he so bad at having emotions and equally bad at not having them?

"Spock?"

"Yes, Leonard."

"You aren't bad at emotions."

His face burned. "I did not mean for you to hear that."

"I don't need empath powers to know what you're thinking. You're not as subtle as you think you are." Leonard squeezed his hand gently. "Emotions are hard. That's just how it is."

But Leonard of all people should know that it's not required to accept things the way they are. Spock kept his thoughts blank until he felt Leonard drift off again. The emotions were all still there. The pain hadn't gone away.

He leaned his cheek against the top of Leonard's head and didn't try to ignore it. For once he let himself feel the pain. He held it in the palm of his hand, turned it over to look at it from all sides, and then let it go.


End file.
